Ad Hudler's Blog, page 17
March 9, 2011
Uhh...I'll just have a glass of water, please
This is a staged food photo that a downtown Nashville restaurant actually used for PROMOTIONAL purposes. I suggest they hire a new food stylist.
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Imagine the waiter's pitch for this one: "It's a delicious-if-not-undercooked loin of pork atop a mound of baby poop and pureed peat moss. Topped with sliced peaches and fried pork rinds, of course."
Lordy, I'd hate to see what their cream-chipped-beef looks like.
March 7, 2011
Dear Southwest Airlines: Wow. All I can say is WOW.
We hear a lot of complaints about air travel these days, and, sadly, most of them are valid.
But I had an uplifting experience on Southwest Airlines today that deserves mention.
We were scheduled to leave Nashville, flying direct to Fort Myers, at 8 a.m. today. At 7:45 the captain came out and told us the engine was acting up, and he wanted it tested. Flat out honest with us. He said, "Hey, I'm going up there with you; I don't want to be on a plane with a bad engine."
For the next 15 minutes we listened to him rev the engine up and down, testing it as a mechanic worked on it. Then he came back on and said he wasn't satisfied, and that he'd called for a new plane.
Now, if this were Delta, they would have kept us on there for hours, but we left the plane immediately and returned to the terminal. Time: About 8:20.
Now ... get this: It took less than 30 minutes for a substitute plane to arrive for us. From where? I have no idea. But it appeared, magically, and we boarded. Since this was Southwest and we'd already given up our boarding passes on the original plane, they asked us to use the honor system and sit exactly where we had sat on the first plane. And because everyone was so happy that this problem had been handled so well, they all obeyed. With smiles. Despite having to switch planes, despite being late, everyone was smiling and laughing because the plane's crew was forthright and friendly, and we didn't feel like we were being lied to or treated badly.
In the end, we were just over one hour late arriving into Fort Myers. Incredible. On Delta, this would have taken all day long. I speak from experience: I fly them almost weekly.
Everything about Southwest is efficient. The gate agents get to the doors upon arrival faster than any other airline. Seriously, that aircraft door is open usually within 60 seconds. On other carriers: Sometimes up to 5 minutes. And, Southwest pilots taxi faster than any other pilots. They zip those 737s in and out of those gates as if they were VW Bugs.
And the bag handlers? They were already unloading our bags from the broken plane even before we were let off.
No one at Southwest waits for anything. Except, of course, if something's wrong with a plane engine -- and thank God for that.
Today I married Southwest Airlines.
But I had an uplifting experience on Southwest Airlines today that deserves mention.
We were scheduled to leave Nashville, flying direct to Fort Myers, at 8 a.m. today. At 7:45 the captain came out and told us the engine was acting up, and he wanted it tested. Flat out honest with us. He said, "Hey, I'm going up there with you; I don't want to be on a plane with a bad engine."
For the next 15 minutes we listened to him rev the engine up and down, testing it as a mechanic worked on it. Then he came back on and said he wasn't satisfied, and that he'd called for a new plane.
Now, if this were Delta, they would have kept us on there for hours, but we left the plane immediately and returned to the terminal. Time: About 8:20.
Now ... get this: It took less than 30 minutes for a substitute plane to arrive for us. From where? I have no idea. But it appeared, magically, and we boarded. Since this was Southwest and we'd already given up our boarding passes on the original plane, they asked us to use the honor system and sit exactly where we had sat on the first plane. And because everyone was so happy that this problem had been handled so well, they all obeyed. With smiles. Despite having to switch planes, despite being late, everyone was smiling and laughing because the plane's crew was forthright and friendly, and we didn't feel like we were being lied to or treated badly.
In the end, we were just over one hour late arriving into Fort Myers. Incredible. On Delta, this would have taken all day long. I speak from experience: I fly them almost weekly.
Everything about Southwest is efficient. The gate agents get to the doors upon arrival faster than any other airline. Seriously, that aircraft door is open usually within 60 seconds. On other carriers: Sometimes up to 5 minutes. And, Southwest pilots taxi faster than any other pilots. They zip those 737s in and out of those gates as if they were VW Bugs.
And the bag handlers? They were already unloading our bags from the broken plane even before we were let off.
No one at Southwest waits for anything. Except, of course, if something's wrong with a plane engine -- and thank God for that.
Today I married Southwest Airlines.
March 4, 2011
Hudler Household Snapshot: #38r55T
We are crazy cat people. As a family who has never had cable TV, we spend way too much time watching our two cats, Thomas and Mitchell, for entertainment. (Here's a pic and the lowdown on Thomas, made famous in my novel Househusband).
My mom has always said there are two kinds of people in the world: Cat lovers and assholes.
I wouldn't go that far, but I do respect their sense of independence and you-can-go-to-hell attitude.
New art in the Hudler house:
[image error]We bought these three paintings from a street artist in New Orleans, when we went to watch our daughter compete in Moot Court nationals. That's a beignet in the left kitty's paws, a donut in the center, and an oyster on the right.
March 2, 2011
If I wasn't a writer ...
... I think I'd like to be a civil engineer or architect ... because I have great respect for projects that succeed in both form and function. Like this:
[image error]This is the bridge at the northern entrance to the Natchez Trace Parkway, just south of Nashville. Gorgeous, isn't it?
For those who don't know about it, the Trace stretches about 500 miles, from Nashville to Jackson, Mississippi. A snake-shaped national park, it is a natural path that's been followed by humans for thousands of years. I'm not sure why it's a path, but it is, and it was on this path where Meriwether Lewis died en route to Washington to deliver his journals from the famous expedition. How he died isn't known for sure. In fact, his family is trying to get the body exhumed so they can finally determine whether he was murdered by himself or someone else.
I'll bet he would have stopped to sketch this beautiful bridge, though.
[image error]This is the bridge at the northern entrance to the Natchez Trace Parkway, just south of Nashville. Gorgeous, isn't it?
For those who don't know about it, the Trace stretches about 500 miles, from Nashville to Jackson, Mississippi. A snake-shaped national park, it is a natural path that's been followed by humans for thousands of years. I'm not sure why it's a path, but it is, and it was on this path where Meriwether Lewis died en route to Washington to deliver his journals from the famous expedition. How he died isn't known for sure. In fact, his family is trying to get the body exhumed so they can finally determine whether he was murdered by himself or someone else.
I'll bet he would have stopped to sketch this beautiful bridge, though.
February 28, 2011
Heard at the Mall: Post #298eR4
Signs that you have dropped the ball as a parent:
Woman #1: "So Allison came home and she had gauges in her ears."Woman #2: "What did you do?"Woman #1: "Well, I took her back to the mall, and she agreed to get smaller gauges with a picture of Jesus on them."
I'm not kidding folks. This is real. Sounds like something Claire Dumfy on Modern Family would do, doesn't it?
Woman #1: "So Allison came home and she had gauges in her ears."Woman #2: "What did you do?"Woman #1: "Well, I took her back to the mall, and she agreed to get smaller gauges with a picture of Jesus on them."
I'm not kidding folks. This is real. Sounds like something Claire Dumfy on Modern Family would do, doesn't it?
February 26, 2011
Tornado in the highrise
It seems that the upper South has become the new Tornado Alley these past few years, with most of the killer twisters touching down in Arkansas, Tennessee and Alabama rather than Kansas and Oklahoma. Tornado watches have become fairly commonplace in places like Nashville.
So where do you go for shelter during a tornado watch when you live on the 29th floor? Answer that surprised me: Into the hallway. It was explained to me that highrises, because they are made with steel instead of wood, are fairly immune to the destruction of twisters, and as long as you get away from the windows you should be just fine.
Hmmmm.
I'm still skeptical about this ... but, at least it makes for some nice chatting time with neighbors in the hallway ... and cuddling time with the furry residents, too.
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February 24, 2011
Why I like to cook: Reason #2ZS17
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Because it's so perty. Seriously, all those colors and shapes and textures! Here's the start of 14-bean soup with chopped veggies.
Because it's so perty. Seriously, all those colors and shapes and textures! Here's the start of 14-bean soup with chopped veggies.
February 22, 2011
Girls: Behave yourselves
Going out on a limb here. I've long noticed a growing sense of incivility in American culture (Thankfully, Southern culture is not as bad off in this arena). And, honestly, it's more notable in young women than any other group. There's a growing aggressiveness and anger amongst women ages 18-30 today... an anger that one normally associates with testosterone. Just today a young woman nearly ran me over as I crossed a street in the crosswalk. She hadn't looked before turning on a red light. I yelled at her: "Hey!" to keep from being run over. She threw the car in park, got out and started screaming at me in four-letter words.
In nearly every altercation between two drivers I've seen in the past few years, the most aggressive, ugly party has almost always been a young woman who is screaming FUCK this and FUCK that and FUCK you!
Men, the worst-behaved of the genders since the beginning of time, have always relied on women to hold up the rules and expectations of behavior that keeps civilization civilized. We expect men to act bad, but women have always set the higher standards. They have kept us kinder and gentler. What are we to do when women begin devolving into nasty male behavior?
And you need to know, ladies: Men don't like it one bit. While we may enjoy watching the Kardashians engage in aggressive, rough behavior, we choose to date and marry women who don't trash-talk and act like Rocky Balboa.
Aggressive behavior in women is as sexy as Ugg boots.
Okay, now .... let me have it. I'm cringing and ready.
In nearly every altercation between two drivers I've seen in the past few years, the most aggressive, ugly party has almost always been a young woman who is screaming FUCK this and FUCK that and FUCK you!
Men, the worst-behaved of the genders since the beginning of time, have always relied on women to hold up the rules and expectations of behavior that keeps civilization civilized. We expect men to act bad, but women have always set the higher standards. They have kept us kinder and gentler. What are we to do when women begin devolving into nasty male behavior?
And you need to know, ladies: Men don't like it one bit. While we may enjoy watching the Kardashians engage in aggressive, rough behavior, we choose to date and marry women who don't trash-talk and act like Rocky Balboa.
Aggressive behavior in women is as sexy as Ugg boots.
Okay, now .... let me have it. I'm cringing and ready.
February 21, 2011
A word about drunk-writing
I've been thinking a lot about writers and drinking this past week as I'm seven days into a month-long hiatus from gin. As many of my readers know, I love gin a little too much, and now and then I have to abstain just to make sure I still can.
Booze helps me in the writing process, but not in the way you might imagine.
Frequently, under the influence, I sit down and start writing and I think, "Oh, wow! This is freakin' brilliant! ... Don't stop, Ad! ... BRILLIANT!"
Alas, I awake the next morning and read what I and Tanqueray have written; it is crap. Every single time.
Editing under the influence, however, is another matter. Whenever I drink, my way of seeing things undergoes some sort of shift, as if I'm seeing the writing from a different perspective, from SOMEONE ELSE'S perspective, and I can see ways to improve the original raw portions of the manuscript. It's like viewing a modern sculpture. From one vantage point you get a particular reaction, but if you walk 45 degrees to the left or right you see things that you wouldn't have seen in that original spot. Gin cuts me loose from my normal, everyday point of view and sets me adrift, so that I can see the manuscript from a spot that is further away, big-picture, and truer.
Gin = different-colored lens.
Booze helps me in the writing process, but not in the way you might imagine.
Frequently, under the influence, I sit down and start writing and I think, "Oh, wow! This is freakin' brilliant! ... Don't stop, Ad! ... BRILLIANT!"
Alas, I awake the next morning and read what I and Tanqueray have written; it is crap. Every single time.
Editing under the influence, however, is another matter. Whenever I drink, my way of seeing things undergoes some sort of shift, as if I'm seeing the writing from a different perspective, from SOMEONE ELSE'S perspective, and I can see ways to improve the original raw portions of the manuscript. It's like viewing a modern sculpture. From one vantage point you get a particular reaction, but if you walk 45 degrees to the left or right you see things that you wouldn't have seen in that original spot. Gin cuts me loose from my normal, everyday point of view and sets me adrift, so that I can see the manuscript from a spot that is further away, big-picture, and truer.
Gin = different-colored lens.
February 19, 2011
Wine vs. Booze: More from the Memoir in progress
From a chapter about my lifelong, rocky relationship with alcohol:
One year for Fourth of July Carol and I decided to have a Mexican-themed meal. This, of course, meant margarita. Both of us being born and raised in the Mexican-heavy West, we serve an authentic, potent version of the citrusy cocktail: one-third tequila, one third Cointreau, one third fresh lime juice.
By the time dinner was ready, two people had passed out in their chairs. Two others, discussing national politics, were shouting at each other. In the postmortem of this crash-of-a-dinner party, Carol and I concluded that spirits dramatically alter the arc of an evening. With beer and wine there is a gentle rise in inebriation, gradual and prolonged like a sloping hill, because the body can absorb the alcohol it's taking in. With spirits, however, the rise in drunkenness is faster, steeper; you catapult yourself to the narrow apex, hold on to the top for a brief moment, and then tumble down the other side. Often, there are casualties: someone's pride, someone's dignity, a friendship.
One year for Fourth of July Carol and I decided to have a Mexican-themed meal. This, of course, meant margarita. Both of us being born and raised in the Mexican-heavy West, we serve an authentic, potent version of the citrusy cocktail: one-third tequila, one third Cointreau, one third fresh lime juice.
By the time dinner was ready, two people had passed out in their chairs. Two others, discussing national politics, were shouting at each other. In the postmortem of this crash-of-a-dinner party, Carol and I concluded that spirits dramatically alter the arc of an evening. With beer and wine there is a gentle rise in inebriation, gradual and prolonged like a sloping hill, because the body can absorb the alcohol it's taking in. With spirits, however, the rise in drunkenness is faster, steeper; you catapult yourself to the narrow apex, hold on to the top for a brief moment, and then tumble down the other side. Often, there are casualties: someone's pride, someone's dignity, a friendship.
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